


vegas is for lovers, too

by ecstasyseeker



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Casual Sex, F/M, Oral Sex, blowjob, every thought i've ever had about semen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:53:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29850780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecstasyseeker/pseuds/ecstasyseeker
Summary: Once they’re out of the smoky casino air, no longer ingesting alcohol, clarity seems to return in slow increments. Something peculiar about it, though, is the way Hotch doesn’t feel any less giddy. He catches Emily’s eye out of the corner of his, quickly looking away and hiding a smile. If there wasn’t another party present, a middle aged, balding man who looked to be down on his luck and probably short a few thousand, he’d be all over her. It's arousing, the thought of what they’re doing. Thinking about it as a story to tell later, that time where he had a few too many drinks in Vegas with his colleague— his stunning, sexy colleague who he’s had a thing for since practically day one. She’s his subordinate, and there’s probably a rule or guideline against that somewhere, but he doesn’t care. It only serves to heighten his anticipation. His last thought before the elevator stops on the 23rd floor is that he should probably thank Reid for prolonging their stay, if only for one more night. One night with Emily.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Emily Prentiss
Comments: 10
Kudos: 34





	vegas is for lovers, too

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying something new. Said newness comes in the form of Hotchniss. I have about 17k words written in this 'verse I've created, which is basically just peeling back the top layer of canon, injecting my own narrative, and then placing canon neatly back over the top. Noble work if you ask me. In any case, for now you just get this.
> 
> This takes place post-406, the episode where the team goes to Vegas for the case that maybe kinda sorta might involve Reid's dad. I just ran away with it, I guess.

Emily huffs a laugh as she sets down yet another empty glass—of what, Hotch can’t really remember, just that it was strong and alcoholic and contributed to her steady state of inebriation. He’s feeling the same.

Emily props her face on her hand, slouched against the bar, movements loose and inelegant but still captivating. “You know, we’ve been in this casino for like, three hours, and I haven’t thought once about touching a slot machine.” 

“Yeah?” He replies. 

“Yeah,” She adds a seductive sway to her shoulders that has Hotch suddenly feeling quite warm, “I’ve been so busy thinkin’ about something else.”

“Oh, yeah?” He leans closer when she does, and he can smell the alcohol on her breath where it mingles with his in the slowly diminishing space.

“Yeah,” Her voice is nothing but a rasp, less than an inch from his face.

“And what might that be?”

“Take a guess,” She says, breathlessly, letting her gaze drop shamelessly to his lips. She catches his breath hitch, the power she has over him already exciting her, anticipation growing as he leans forward.

“Wanna go upstairs?” He asks, his voice gruff against her ear. She places her hands on his shoulders, more to steady herself than him, gripping his t-shirt.

“Yeah.” 

Once they’re out of the smoky casino air, no longer ingesting alcohol, clarity seems to return in slow increments. Something peculiar about it, though, is the way Hotch doesn’t feel any less giddy. He catches Emily’s eye out of the corner of his, quickly looking away and hiding a smile. If there wasn’t another party present, a middle aged, balding man who looked to be down on his luck and probably short a few thousand, he’d be all over her. It's arousing, the thought of what they’re doing. Thinking about it as a story to tell later, that time where he had a few too many drinks in Vegas with his colleague— his stunning, sexy colleague who he’s had a thing for since practically day one. She’s his subordinate, and there’s probably a rule or guideline against that somewhere, but he doesn’t care. It only serves to heighten his anticipation. His last thought before the elevator stops on the 23rd floor is that he should probably thank Reid for prolonging their stay, if only for one more night. One night with Emily. 

As soon as the doors close behind the loser who clearly won’t be getting any tonight, Hotch’s vision blacks out. He realizes, with just a second’s delay, that it wasn’t him being attacked or the elevator losing power and falling 30 stories, but a flash of black hair as Emily pushes him against the wall, hastily mashing their lips together. It's not sloppy, but it’s certainly intense, as she wastes no time separating his lips with her tongue and biting his lower lip hungrily. The jolt of sensation sends his head reeling, his hands to her hips where they grasp tightly, earning him a hum of appreciation. 

All too soon, the elevator dings again, signifying they’ve reached the 31st floor, where both of their rooms are. He says nothing as Emily leads him to hers, coming up behind her as she fishes for the keycard in her purse. He buries his face in her shoulder, inhaling the scent of cigarette smoke from the bar cut with the subtle floral hints of her shampoo. He pushes his way through her hair to reach the skin of her neck, impossibly soft and warm, and she giggles.

“I got it,” She whispers, referring to the keycard in her hand. She opens the door on the first try and pushes them into the room. 

As soon as possible, Hotch takes his turn, pushing her against the wall and kissing her fiercely. He loves it, he thinks. Loves the sound of her laugh, still echoing from the hallway, the softness of her hair as he cards his hand through it, the feel of her lips against and between his. He’d spent long hours looking at these very lips, wondering idly about their taste or their texture when he knew he shouldn’t have been. They taste like traces of alcohol, and he suddenly feels as if he’s at a wine tasting, weighing flavors on his tongue and determining the faintest notes. He’s so lost in the kiss, his tongue practically down her throat, that when they finally break, they’re both gasping. 

Emily looks just as flustered as him, but intent clear in her eyes. Her eyes darken as his widen when she starts unbuttoning her shirt, revealing a navy blue bra underneath. Whipping off her shirt, she moves to her pants, making quick work of those, too. Her underwear aren’t anything special, and they’re red, not matching her bra at all. He chuckles to himself, forgetting for a moment that he’s not in a fantasy, just watching her. 

In retaliation, she pushes him backwards, onto the bed. Then, she’s straddling him, loosening his tie, “What’s so funny?”

He finds his mouth is dry with her so close again, “Nothing, just... You’re very patriotic.” 

“Yeah, cause I’m wearing red and blue or cause I’m about to fuck a federal agent?” 

“Both.” 

Their lips meet again as she undresses him— his jacket and tie long gone, she makes quick work of his dress shirt, scraping her nails down his chest when she finds another layer of clothing. Only breaking them apart to remove his undershirt, she seems to be frustrated when they’re not making contact. He takes this as a sign to snake his hands up her back to undo her bra clasp, tossing the thing aside. 

Having her tongue in his mouth is one thing, her tits in his face is decidedly another. She takes pleasure in the look on his face, somewhere between fascinated and enchanted, because despite all his accolades and credentials, he’s really just a man. His next logical move is to hold them, to feel the weight of them in his hands, so he does. They’re soft, achingly so, and her nipples harden under his touch. This compels him to take one in his thumb and forefinger, twisting it, and Emily hisses. This whole ordeal is ridiculously animal, an ongoing trade of instincts and impulses, actions and reactions, and he’s happy to follow their guide, to relent himself to this woman and everything he wants to do to her, with her.

Hotch’s attention returns to the growing tightness in his pants— where Emily’s currently rocking her hips. At a particularly well-aimed motion, he groans and grabs her ass with the hand not currently tweaking her nipple, eliciting another half-laugh, half-moan from her already swollen lips. He has half a mind to protest when she pulls back, gets off his lap, but it’s silenced when she makes a move for his belt. 

He’d since kicked off his shoes and somehow maneuvered off his socks, leaving only his pants and boxers between them. As if reading his mind, she pushes them down at the same time, biting her lip when his cock springs upward, slapping against his stomach. He decides to let his ego believe she was marveling at the size of him. 

Still wordlessly, she pulls him to a standing position, and he’s the one rendered speechless when she looks him in the eye and drops to her knees. 

She takes him in her hand— actually, both of her hands— and he groans at how small she looks, his hand tangling itself in her hair by its own accord. Not to guide or to push, not yet, anyway, just to anchor himself to reality and make sure he remembers this. He’ll certainly want to later.

He groans again when she takes him into her mouth, just the tip at first, sucking her cheeks and swirling her tongue around his head as her hand grips his base. She pulls off for a moment to spread the wetness created by her saliva and his precome down the length of his cock. Then, she meets his eyes, and shoves him as far down her throat as he can fit. He grunts, and now his hand does grip her hair, keeping her in place so he doesn’t try to thrust any deeper. He can feel her tongue on the underside of his cock, feel the head hit the back of her throat. She makes a choking sound, but makes no attempt to lessen the depth as she pulls back and forth several more times. He watches desperately, helplessly as his cock disappears into her pretty mouth, time and time again, her lips stretched around him with his hand tangled in her hair. 

She can tell he’s getting closer, so she pulls off of him completely, face messy, a string of spit still connected to his cock. She takes up the job with her right hand, jerking him as she plants feather-light, almost chaste kisses to his hips and thighs. 

“You like that, baby?” She whispers, her voice hoarse, and he grunts. This eggs her on. “You like it when I choke on your cock? You like seeing my lips stretched around you?” 

“Emily-“ He moans, voice breaking around her name.

“How do you wanna come? In my mouth? On my tits?” She asks, and he barely registers the question.

“On- on you-“ He groans, deaf to his own words, and before he knows it, he’s coming, cum spilling from his cock and onto her, where she kneels, still stroking him. Hot, thick ropes of him land on her face, her neck, her chest. He almost feels embarrassed, but she doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, she’s clearly into it, because she swipes her tongue across her bottom lip, catching a drop that landed there and staring up at him in pure ecstasy. It’s such an erotic, wild vision- her covered in his mess, and he dives for her breasts, sucking and licking everywhere he touched. The taste of himself mixed with her sweat drives him forward, sucking harsh, purple marks into that soft skin he’d felt earlier, moving his way upward. His cum has begun to drip down her neck, pooling at the base of her throat, between her clavicles. He flattens his tongue and licks a wet stripe from there to her pulse point, sucking another mark where her neck meets her jaw. Her fingers scratch at the nape of his neck, gasping as he takes care of his mess.

Feeling satisfied, he pulls back to look at her, seeing some of his release still dribbling from her chin. Mindlessly, he catches it with his thumb, bringing it to her lips. She opens to him, his thumb slipping into her mouth, and she knows exactly what she’s doing with the filthy suction she provides, the tantalizing licks of her tongue working against his thumb the same way she worked his cock. He feels his cock start to harden again when she closes her eyes, moaning with his finger still in her mouth. 

As it to taunt him further, she slips a hand into her underwear, touching herself and gathering her own arousal. She brings her soaked fingers to his lips, not giving him time to open and taste them before she’s running them across his upper lip, where he can smell her. Only then does she oblige him, pushing her fingers into his waiting mouth, and he relishes in the heady taste of her.

“Feel how wet I am? How much I want you?”

“Fuck,” He groans, his cock fully hard. Emily smiles, pleased with herself to see her boss this incapacitated, all because of her.

Suddenly, he feels his pride rise again, or maybe just something that longs to see her fall apart. She’s been doing all the talking, and it’s time for him to get some back.

“Get yourself off on me, Emily,” He commands, descending onto the bed and pulling her on top of him, but not before ridding her of her underwear. 

She moans against his chest, grinding herself against his cock. 

“You heard me. I want you to come on my cock.” His voice sounds so utterly destroyed that he hardly recognizes it as his own, and it’s this thought he’s pulled from as he feels her sinking down, having positioned him at her entrance. 

“Fuck!” Emily gasps, lowering herself until he’s buried to the hilt. He’s never felt anything as blissful as this— his cock buried deep in her cunt, her hair falling into her face as she rides him, her hands planted firmly on his chest. He wants badly to cover them with his own, but instead he finds them at her hips, assisting in the rhythm and pace she’s created. He doesn’t know how long this lasts, just that he soon feels himself approaching the brink again, and refuses to let himself come again until she’s gotten off at least once. He releases one hand from her hip, maneuvering it to the place where they’re joined, finding her clit and rubbing tight circles against it. Almost immediately, her movements become erratic, uncoordinated as she works herself up faster and faster. 

“Aaron!” She shouts upon her release, the single word coupled with the clenching of her cunt around him enough to make him come a second time, not on her but inside her. 

Eventually, she collapses on top of him, both of them panting as they come down from their highs. He slips out of her, feeling amazing and satiated but also a little guilty.

“Should I not have..?”

She shakes her head, “It’s fine, I have an IUD.” 

He breathes a sigh of relief as she rolls off of him without leaving the bed. Ignoring the fact that they both badly need a shower, she goes to him and he willingly pulls her close, resting an arm around her back and letting his fingers draw mindlessly at her hip.

They’ll worry about everything else in the morning. He’s too tired to take care of it now, and he’s not coordinated enough to even think about getting up and showering right now. He’ll deal with it tomorrow, when he can think of something other than her. 

Of course, he may get it together enough to shower off the sweat and sex, but he won’t be able to wipe off the memory as easily. He knows that every time they’re at work from now until God knows when, every time she calls him by his nickname, “Hotch, you should come look at this,” “Hotch, the unsub...” He won’t be thinking of work. 

Instead, he’ll be thinking of how she cried out his first name when she came. 

\------

They thought they’d have a buffer. 

Well, first, Hotch thought the extra time he gave himself at the airstrip would help clear his head. When he woke up that morning, head pounding and ears ringing, it took him a moment to realize why he felt warmer than usual. 

It was because there was a woman curled up to his side, a very contentedly sleeping woman, whose dark hair splayed messily across his chest. The hum of her rhythmic breathing confirmed she wasn’t close to waking up, and Hotch slowly and carefully extricated himself from her embrace, rolling out of the bed and ignoring the uncomfortable chill of the air as he purposefully made his way to the bathroom.

He showered, swished some water in his mouth since he didn’t have a toothbrush with him, donned his suit from the previous night and began his walk of shame back to his room to gather his things. Emily was still asleep when he left, and he hoped his unexplained absence wouldn’t lead to awkwardness later. 

It certainly didn’t lead to any peace, however, since he sat at the airstrip for a good hour, fiending for a cigarette even though he quit years ago. His panic was only momentarily alleviated when finally, Emily walked up to him, followed closely by JJ. Just JJ. 

He thought they’d have a buffer on the plane, that other teammates would be around and force their impending conversation to be postponed. Instead, they’ve found themselves in a painfully quiet aircraft, however many thousand feet in the air, alone with only a pregnant communications liaison snoring on the couch. 

“You as hungover as I am?” Emily asks, a cheap attempt to break the silence that stretched over the first hour of the flight. 

Hotch merely grunts in return, his signature scowl no doubt planted firmly on his face. 

Emily purses her lips, “Look, we don’t have to talk about it,” She says, but her body language says part of her is itching to do just that. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Do you?”

“I asked first.” 

“I brought it up first.”

Hotch sighs. So does Emily. She pulls a deck of cards out of her jacket pocket and sets them on the table between them.

“Wanna play something?” 

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. What games do you play with two people?” 

“Chess.”

“Thank you, smartass, I don’t have Reid’s board in my pocket. Ever played Egyptian Ratscrew?”

“Egyptian What?”

“I learned it when I did drama club in high school,” She explains with a shrug of her shoulders, “It’s fun.”

“You were a theatre kid?” He asks, bemused.

“Where did you think I got my flair for the dramatic? You’ve met my parents, it certainly wasn’t them. Plus, I’d never be a band kid. Gross,” Hotch is silent after Emily punctuates her sentence with a disgusted curl of her lip. She catches on, looking up so fast it may have given her whiplash, “Oh, my God. You were a band kid.”

“No—“

“What instrument?” She demands.

“Prentiss...” Hotch tries to protest, though he knows it’s too late. 

“Come on, we’re both established nerds, now tell me what instrument you played in the high school pep band.”

He swallows. “Trombone. And it was marching band.”

Emily bursts out into undignified cackles. Hotch feels an embarrassed but good-natured flush rise to his cheeks at her display of sheer glee. 

“Okay, you’re gonna wake up the pregnant lady,” He says, laughing himself. The mention that there’s someone else in the room seems to calm her down, her hand stifling any residual giggles as it covers her mouth. They slip into a comfortable silence as Emily shuffles and deals the appropriate amount of cards.

“Okay, I’m gonna teach you how to play.”

“Okay.”

She pauses for just a moment, biting the inside of her cheek as she looks at him from across the table. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

He nods, miraculously feeling no awkwardness, “Okay.” 

And they don’t. Not yet.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment if you liked it... especially if you want me to post more, lol. Because I am both shy and stingy when it comes to my writing. Especially when it's smut.


End file.
